Larry & Olga's

On this beautiful and sunny (!!!) afternoon, Larry came to pay us a visit. Who is Larry you say? I am glad you asked! He is our new little bird friend. 

About a month ago, Matt and I were both wishing we had a more interactive pet. We had just returned from our family visit and there were dogs, cats, children, horses and fish to play with! Chuck Testa the fish is very pretty but he doesn't fetch or snuggle in your lap or anything that cool (although I've heard that you can teach betta fish tricks, that just seemed a little too nerdy for us). So instead of paying our $500 pet deposit to get a typical sort of pet, we spent $20 on a bird feeder and seed. 

And for the first few weeks, we didn't see or hear anything coming from our back porch. We would open the blinds every morning and forlornly stare at our bird feeder. I know sometimes it can take a few week for birds to catch on so I decided to give them some help! I scattered bird seed all over our back porch and sidewalk. And the next day, we had birdie visitors. The birds come to see us whenever the sun is shining (the birds never seem to visit when it is cloudy out and I want their cheerful chirping the most) and we kept receiving visitors until all the seed on the sidewalk was gone. 

Because I was being helpful and throwing seed on the ground, only 1 bird ever found the actual bird feeder. He was smart and chirpy and Matt named him Larry. When Larry is eating at the bird feeder, I've tried to get closer to the window to see his markings or take a picture to show you all. Larry does not like this and promptly flies away. He is a very private and skittish bird, but I am happy to have him anyway! Maybe Larry will help the other birds figure out the bird feeder situation...

From Squidoo

In other news, I have been very busy at work. Olga's was a madhouse around Valentine's day and I've worked way more than I usually do. Good for our bank account, bad for the lonely library books stacked by the couch. Working more has gone pretty well, except for the angry guest I had the other day that made me cry. The man said that he was insulted by the awful service I gave him and that I completely ruined his birthday. 

I can admit that I may have been a tad neglectful of his table (he didn't get more bread without asking and his water glass was mostly empty) but I was running around like a mad woman about 5 feet away trying to take care of my other guests (the birthday celebration of an 8 year old and her entire family and a very needy 5 top with two little kids). But it wasn't like I wasn't available if he had really needed something (he could have stopped me and asked - being a waiter does not make me a mind reader) and it wasn't as if I was messing around on my cell phone and ignoring him (I was legitimately busy as he could see! The whiney jerk).

Usually when guests are rude to me, I can just blow it off and understand that life makes everyone ugly sometimes. But the fact that this man personally insulted me and said that I ruined his birthday was just too much. How absurd! Why is it that if you work in the food service industry, people feel they are allowed to treat you like dog poop AND get a free meal for it?

On the bright side, my manager didn't ream me for the guest complaint like I thought he was going to and my coworkers spent the rest of the shift being really nice and trying to make me smile again. Some days I hate my job, but for now it pays the bills and I am content. Anyway, I am off to enjoy the sunshine while it's here and I have some free time. Have a great day!

In rural America, Wednesday is trash day

When I last posted all our stuff was still hiding in the garage, but no longer! Our second attempt at getting our belongings moved was more successful. Matt and I drove the 40 boxes, queen sized bed & box spring, and bedside table down to the end of the driveway so we didn't have a repeat power line fiasco. It didn't take us nearly as long as I thought it would to get everything up there, but I wasn't worried about leaving it out there for a few extra hours till the moving man came by.

Unfortunately, I forgot that here in our rural part of Texas, Wednesday is trash day. Where does trash go? The end of the driveway. So when Matt tells me the moving van is here an hour early, I panicked as I realize that is not the moving guy who has come to pick up our stuff.

As I ran up the driveway, I am hoping they haven't already thrown our belongings in the dirty trash trailer being hauled by the pickup truck. I hailed the garbage man (a friendly enough old man with missing teeth) and his two trash thugs (highschool aged boys without the sense to wear t-shirts) and explain why all the stuff was in the driveway.

The garbage man replies (in a heavy Texas accent) "I thought it was mighty strange tha someone would throw away all this nice stuff. The boxes was labeled an' everythin'." I replied, "Yeah, I am so sorry for the confusion, please don't take our stuff! I forgot all about trash day."

"Well, Miss, I understand now, but I was confused at first. I even laid on that bed and thought to myself...this is a reaaaally nice bed for folks to be throwin' away." Hah. Really?

This is my life. I almost gave away my expensive tempurpedic bed to the garbage man (the bed Matt and I are still paying for in monthly installments, I might add) because I forgot about trash day. This gentlemen probably would have slept many sweet nights on that bed. I bet he probably deserves them more than I do because he does a dirty, generally thankless job for our little town. As Matt says, "All glory be to the garbage men!"

In other news, Matt and I packed up the car tonight. We are leaving in the morning - a day earlier than planned but we are anxious to be off. I hope you are looking forward to a half whiney/half delirious post on the morrow.

Adios, Tejas!

Ready for a misadventure?

When I was originally scheming about writing a blog, I was intending to write about being a young married person and wanting to document the tumultuous period that is being a fledgling adult. I thought I would write about the slow food movement, social change, politics, eco-friendly living; however, now that the time to write is here, the only thing this foolish soon-to-be-Seattleite has to write about is misadventure. I promise to be cool eventually, but today is not that day.

I was not going to write about what happened with the moving company today, because I did not want to jinx our luck for tomorrow. Then I remembered adults are not supposed to be superstitious, so here goes.

The moving truck was supposed to arrive between 8am and 10am this morning. Around 9am, as I am editing a cover letter for a job I plan to apply for the power goes out. At first, I thought maybe it was a hiccup or a power surge. Checked the appliances in the rest of the room, yep, no power there either.

As I am walking outside and calling Matt to figure out how to flip the breakers (thinking that this was just a simple issue of blowing a fuse), I see the moving truck at the top of the ¼ mile long drive way up to the house. After a few seconds, I realized that the truck was not coming down the driveway even though I already checked that the gate was open and unlocked. My apprehension for this situation grows as I walk on down the driveway to see what the problem is.

If you have ever seen the rural property where we are living, you may remember that there is a power line directly over the driveway with two poles on either side. That is when I notice the tremendous sag in the power line above the driveway. And the inward tilt of the poles on either side. And the anxious look on the drivers face (we shall call him Joe).

After Joe informs me that he accidentally hit the power line while trying to come down the driveway, I call my father in law (with panic in my voice) and ask him to call the power company and let them know what happened. At this point, I wasn’t positive that Joe and I had knocked out power in the entire neighborhood but I had an inkling…the neighbors poking their heads out their windows was not a good sign.

Joe and I headed back to house to try to figure out what to do – we were still mostly concerned with how to get our belongings from the garage to the moving van. Walking the 40 boxes one by one up the ¼ mile driveway did not sound like an enjoyable task here in the Texas heat. It may have been early in the day, but it was already 90°.

That was when I heard it. The sirens, of course. Because what is a misadventure without the authorities getting involved? An ambulance and two fire trucks loudly careen around the bend in the road in our neighborhood. Joe and I set off at a trot back up the driveway, both muttering words of consolation and damnation.

The neighbors are coming out of their houses in earnest now to see what the fuss is about (who knew I was going to host a meet and greet in my pajamas?!). I am sputtering apologizes. Joe is an endless flow of reasons how this was all an accident.

It was all over with quickly. Joe and I realized we were not going to be risking our lives dragging boxes up the driveway under broken power lines so we rescheduled and he left. The emergency responders took their leave after taking our information. And before we knew it, the power company was out here with a truck and a cherry picker to right the poles, straighten the cables and turn the power back on.

Disaster struck and left me and the household company of animals (the chicken, 3 cats, 3 dogs, and 3 horses) all bamboozled and exhausted. Joe is coming back tomorrow, but we have arranged to meet him with all our stuff at the end of the driveway. Cross your fingers for us!